


Black Holes And--

by Eligh



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M, Revelations, Will's probably not sane at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligh/pseuds/Eligh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>--Revelations. </p>
<p>When your mind is as warped as Will's has become, it's really no surprise when his confession happens the way it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Holes And--

When Will woke up, he found that he was standing on Hannibal’s front porch. Still disoriented, his feet aching from the walk from his hotel, he closed his eyes against his surroundings and wished desperately for uncountable seconds that he would be anywhere else in the world when he opened them again. It was too painful, these realizations, and he didn’t want, didn’t want, didn’t want.

There were no lights on inside the house, though that could have been due to either the absence of its inhabitant or merely the lateness of the hour. Will didn’t bother ringing the bell. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak to Hannibal regardless of whether he was home or not. Instead, he slid down against the doorjamb and curled into himself, beginning to shiver with the night’s realized cold.

The betrayal that accompanied his revelation weighed heavy in his chest, likely the reason that this was where he’d ended up. Betrayal and something else – he didn’t want to call it acceptance because, well… Acceptance wasn’t the proper word for this.

_(Didn’t change the fact that it might be the best word.)_

Will’s fingers and bare toes had faded past uncomfortable prickling sensations of chill and were edging into dangerously numb when from behind closed eyes he heard the sound of crunching gravel and the purr of an engine, the sudden silence when the driver cut the power. There was a click of a door opening, then the quiet clunk of it closing, haltering footsteps in the drive.

“William?”

Will cringed and jammed his eyes shut tighter against the headlights washing over him. A shadow passed in front of the light that shone through his eyelids and Will raised a hand to block the glare before finally opening his eyes. Hannibal’s concerned face swam into a semblance of focus and Will very nearly let out a whimper.

“What are you doing out here?” Hannibal asked, his accent thickened with his worry. “Are you all right?”

Will couldn’t fight (didn’t bother to fight) the way his shoulders instinctively relaxed at that familiar voice, and he shifted around to better face his friend (his serial killer). He was distantly aware that he was shivering near uncontrollably, and apparently seeing this, Hannibal stepped away from his car, its engine ticking as it cooled. He held a small Styrofoam cooler under one arm, the kind that you used when transporting cold food _(or meat)_ long distances.

_(Where were you tonight, Hannibal? Who did you meet? Meat, meet.)_

Will barked out a desperate, slightly manic laugh, and Hannibal blinked in surprise. Will shook his head to force down the hysteria. “I guess I was. Um, sleepwalking again? I don’t…”

Hannibal stepped up onto the porch, put the cooler to the side, and kneeled down, (too close) reaching out with gentle hands to brush Will’s sleep-plus-walking mess of hair away from his face. His hands were hot, blood-hot. A little unhinged, Will giggled when he realized he wouldn’t have cared one way or the other if the blood had been on the surface of Hannibal’s hands and not just flowing beneath his skin.

_(God, I’m gone, I’m crazy, he’s a **killer** and I just want—)_

Will _should_ be frightened, because he _knew_ and even if Hannibal didn’t want to hurt him, never planned to hurt him, it didn’t change the fact that he was a killer and he still _could._ He _would_ , if it would protect his secret because—because it would ruin his design. And Hannibal was a careful killer and brutal and ruthless and Will understood him down to the very ground, understood what he did to keep himself safe.

And knowing all this, despite _(because of)_ knowing all this, when Hannibal touched him, slid his hands away from Will’s face and down Will’s arms in a brief gauge of how cold he was (and he was very cold) Will didn’t move away. No, he didn’t move away. He pressed closer.

“I’m…” Will said, but his voice suddenly broke before he could force the words into the still night air. Hannibal blinked again, a more focused worry settling on his face. He stood swiftly, dragging Will along with him and then pulled him closer, slotting them together, wrapping his arms around Will’s back. “Oh God,” Will breathed, burying his head against Hannibal’s neck. “How did this happen?” Hannibal made a soft hushing noise and reached into his pocket.

It wasn’t a knife or anything equally nefarious that he pulled out (though Will hadn’t been expecting that, not really) but rather a keychain. He clicked a button on the car fob and the headlights abruptly blinked out. Darkness claimed the porch and Will clung tighter, pressing against Hannibal in a way he never had before. Because if he got close enough, if he was _inside_ Hannibal, then maybe, maybe…

Hannibal loosened the hand still around Will’s back and slid it up, resting briefly and comfortingly at the back of Will’s neck before continuing north to tangle in his hair.

“You’re safe, William.” He pressed gently against Will and they took a shuffling step closer to the door, close enough that Hannibal could reach around the burden in his arms and slide his house key into the lock. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

_(Not safe. Hannibal is—probably never has been in all of his life—a safe sort of person.)_

Will took a shuddering breath. “Safe as houses.”

“If you wish,” Hannibal said, and Will could tell that he was smiling. He let himself be guided backward, through the doorway and into the deeper darkness of Hannibal’s home. Hannibal gently released him, peeling Will’s arms away once they were fully inside, the door shut behind them. Lost, Will hung his head, shivering again now that Hannibal’s heat was absent against his chest.

He was commanded to wait and so he did, watching after Hannibal’s retreating back and silently shaking apart in the entryway in the silence of this too-large house. It was only short minutes before Hannibal reappeared bearing a large blanket, but it was long enough that Will began to debate how far he would get if he bolted.

_(He hunts them, don’t forget. He could hunt you, too.)_

Hannibal wrapped the blanket around him with a flourish, then paused, looking intently at Will’s face. Will dropped his eyes, unwilling for the moment to meet Hannibal’s all-too-knowing gaze.

“You should sleep,” Hannibal suggested in a manner that was in no way a suggestion. “I can show you to a guest room.” His hand drifted up again, settling at the base of Will’s skull in a gesture that was painfully intimate. “Unless you would like to talk about what is so haunting you.”

Will sank down to the ground where he was, and Hannibal’s eyes widened minutely in alarm. He hesitated above Will for the briefest of moments, then kneeled and gracefully sat next to Will on the ground. “I take it this means you wish to talk.”

The pressure of the words in his throat was nearly suffocating, and Will let out a sob before saying it.

“You’re my _friend_ , Hannibal. You don’t know—or maybe you do—you know what? I’m sure you do. You _know_ how impossible that is, how I don’t have friends and—and—you—”

“William, calm down. Of course I am your friend—” Hannibal was frowning and Will’s eyes fluttered, slipping effortlessly into the mind of the Chesapeake Ripper and how he would simply hate to have a sobbing man marring the pristine cleanliness of his entryway.

Will twitched, nearly collapsing backward onto the hardwood. He was saved a nasty bash of his head only by Hannibal’s arms snapping up to catch him.

“ _William._ ”

Will stared up at the ceiling. It was arterial red.

“I even think I love you a little bit,” he said softly, flatly. “I’ve never been good at separating my own emotions. Other peoples’ are an entirely different matter, obviously. I do know that I want you and it just makes this whole ‘you’re a killer’ business worse because I _get_ it and I know your mind and he’s _you_ and I can’t tell if I should be horrified or relieved that I know and that one way or another it’ll come to a head.”

Above him, Hannibal was frozen, his mouth open a sliver in shock.

“The worst part,” Will went on, his voice growing softer still, “is how little I care and how much I agree with you.” He shrugged, tugging the blanket closer. “I think you broke me.” He looked up, meeting Hannibal’s eyes for the first time of the night. “I don’t want you to kill me.”

Hannibal stared at him for a heartbeat longer, then sat back slightly. “I do not want to kill you.”

“You’re going to, though,” Will said miserably. He blinked back burning tears. “You have to.” He stared up at Hannibal, who for once wasn’t trying to hold his gaze. “Are you going to eat me?”

“How long have you known?” Hannibal asked him instead of answering.

“Yesterday. It just… made sense. You gave us the tamales and it just…” Will sighed. “I haven’t told anyone. I haven’t done anything since the crime scene except go to the hotel and try to sleep. And you can see where sleep has got me.” He unearthed one of his hands from his blanket and snaked it down to grasp around Hannibal’s wrist.

“Can you please find homes for my dogs? And when you—when you have to—just make it quick?”

Hannibal swallowed. “I am not going to kill you, William.” He hesitated, then abruptly leaned forward and brushed his lips across Will’s, ignoring the undoubtedly painful angle this forced him to turn his wrist.

Shocked, Will let him go. “What?”

Hannibal shifted, sliding his hands under the blanket Will still had wrapped around him and pushing it back, stretching his legs out to lie half-draped over Will on the hard wood floor of the entryway. “Are you going to report me to Jack?”

“No.” Will’s answer was instantaneous and entirely honest. Hannibal kissed him again, deeper this time and with a sharp nip to his lips at the end as punctuation. But just as Will was gathering his wits and thinking about kissing him back, Hannibal abruptly pulled away.

“Then I am not going to kill you,” he stated, pushing himself to his feet. “I _would_ like to bathe and feed you. Is that acceptable?” He extended a hand, an offer to help Will to his feet.

There were many things Will could have said in response to this. ‘No,’ should have perhaps been at the top of the list. Instead, he looked up and asked, “What do you have to eat?”

“Liver,” Hannibal told him with a smile, “from a particularly impertinent census taker. And I think I can unearth a nice chianti if you would like.”

Silently, Will reached up and took hold of his hand.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to write something so wildly different from this story that I have no real idea what is going on here. Also, I think Will has Stockholm Syndrome in this, okay? Okay.


End file.
